


in the dream that matters

by feralphoenix



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Families of Choice, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 04:50:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5034364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asgore tries on his new sweater.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the dream that matters

**Author's Note:**

> _(an everyday sort of magic_ – leave the light on for [myself](http://marchenwings.tumblr.com/post/127687644574/in-the-dream-that-matters-i-have-nowhere-to-be))

Chara is always somewhat red-faced, but when you lumber back into the living room their whole face flushes, from the tip of their nose to the edges of their ears. It has become incredibly endearing to you, over these past few months of tender coexistence; you still have trouble reading their features occasionally, but they come more familiar to you by the day.

The redness in their face when they handed you the lumpy, inexpertly wrapped package and said “as a get-well gift” was embarrassment and shame. They couldn’t even bring themself to meet your eyes. Now, though, their gaze is fixed to you—or more precisely, to your chest.

“You—you really put it on.” Their voice is thin and strained with incredulity.

“Of course I did.” You look down at yourself and start to grin again at the upside-down letters. “I am truly grateful, my child.”

When you raise your head again, Chara has crossed their arms over their chest and is looking away.

“It’s not any good, though… And Toriel kept having to help me with the seams and everything, and…”

You kneel down on the floor beside them, even as they lift their feet up off the rug and tuck them underneath themself on your wife’s chair.

“It is very warm, and it fits perfectly, and I can tell how much time and care you put into it,” you tell them. “That is all that’s important, is it not?”

Chara untucks one tiny hand from where it was folded under their elbow and picks at the ends of their hair. “I guess. If you say so.” You watch as they take a deep breath, fold their lower lip into their mouth. Then their gaze flicks back to your face. They don’t move their head, and so you can see the rim of white under their dark red irises, stark against the bruisy crescent-moon shadows that line their eyesockets. As if unsure: “You really like it?”

You hold a hand out to them. “I love it,” you promise them. “I will cherish it for the rest of my days.”

Their expression scrunches up a little, and they close their eyes. They lift both hands and rub their palms over their face. Reaching out any further would startle or upset them, you know, so you wait.

When Chara lowers their hands, their eyes are overbright; seeing you watching, they duck their chin to hide their face in their hair. “Thanks,” they mumble at length, and they rest their hand on the middle of your palm.

And then they get up off the chair and lean against you, hiding their face in your shoulder. It shocks even you.

“Chara,” you begin, not sure what you want to say.

“I’m sorry,” they say, their voice thick. And again, quieter: “’M sorry.”

They stay like that for a very long time, the whole of their weight resting against you. It’s so rare for them to touch anyone but Asriel of their own volition—they hardly even took you or Toriel by the hand unless absolutely necessary, up until the past few weeks. So you hold still, wanting to stay there for as long as they feel comfortable.

A minute passes. Then another. You tilt your head to look down at them from the corner of your eye. Their eyes are closed; their breathing is deep and rhythmic. It appears that they have fallen asleep.

You wrap a careful hand around their back and get to your feet, walking about the empty house and rocking them very carefully as you did with Asriel when he was still a baby.

Chara is still very small, only about as big as your son, and despite the weight they have gained since you took them in, they are still much lighter. It amazes you every day, that the hope that sustains you could be contained in such a tiny creature.

Their tiny hands have made fists in the sweater they made for you. Your heart is so full it might burst.

Toriel and Asriel will be home soon, you know. And Chara will surely not stay asleep for long. But until then…

You walk into the hallway, keeping your steps light and swaying so as not to wake the child curled into your shoulder. And you gaze into the mirror: There are the picture frames on the walls, the vases perched on dressers, the detritus that comes naturally when living with a pair of growing children.

There, too, are you. The sweater is pink and fits you easily—Toriel must have provided help with the measurements—and the text across the chest, though backwards in the mirror, is still perfectly legible.

_Mr. Dad Guy._

You have to work to stifle the chuckle—your foster child is a light sleeper—but the few shakes you can’t suppress only make them nuzzle their face deeper into the fabric.

This will always be your treasure.


End file.
